Curt Wild in Yellow Spandex
by Spyre
Summary: I dare you, Curt Wild, to write a story! What's the worst that could happen? A transdimensional flux and some new, hunky friends? Curt/Wolverine.
1. Part I

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**Curt Wild in Yellow Spandex**

**[Part One]**

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_Alright, people. I'm gonna try to write a story. It's not gonna be something great or good or understandable. Fuck, I'm only doing this out of a fucking dare. So, here it goes. And if you fucking laugh, I'm gonna knock your shit over and come after you. Heh… not really. Alright, here we go…_

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Curt woke up to the worst fucking hangover of his entire fucking existence.

"Fuck me," he growled in that Curt Wild way.

He looked around the strange room, not recognizing where the hell he was. This was not a new thing. He did this a lot in fact… so often that actually knowing where he was became a foreign thing. The room swirled and the light hurt like a mother fucker. It looked like a lab, "What the fuck?"

All of a sudden, out of fucking nowhere, this huge blue beast walks in followed by a tall, red headed chick wearing a skirt… and then comes rollin' in this bald guy in a wheelchair. He looks like a sickly Charlton Hesston. The huge, blue thing needed to stop smiling. It scared the fuck outta Curt because this beast has giant, mean lookin' teeth.

"Where the fuck am I?" Curt asks, his throat hurting from the show he did the night before. He tried to remember what happened. He came up empty… another familiar thing to him.

"You, my sir, are in a medical facility. And I am your doctor. This is Professor Xavier and Jean Gray. We are here to help you. Do you recall anything that occurred last night?… (and all that flowery kinda shit)"

He growled to the point where everyone went all stiff, an expected reaction to Curt Wild, "No, do you?"

The beast guy adjusted some tiny-ass glasses and answered, "You were attacked in an alleyway. We were there to observe you and we saw you had some abilities out of the human realm…"

"Speak English, asshole," Curt warned. Yes, he had been mugged. He'd been knocked the fuck out, too. After that, it was all a fucking black mess.

"Egh-hem (or some pansy ass thing like that)… we saved you anyhow. We have a team of super humans, mutants if you will, that are assembled to protect mankind. After your performance last night, Jean Gray and myself were to approach you about joining…"

Curt stopped them, his brain clearin' a bit, but all this guy's words did was confuse him even more, "Whoa, wait the fuck up… Mutant? Mutants? That explains the fur suit." Curt thought this was funny, "Don't suppose you'd be called Freak Show, now would ya? Where the fuck are my cigarettes?" Curt asked, looking around for his jacket, "And where the fuck is my fucking jacket?"

The guy in a wheel chair came forward, "Curt, we are the X-Men and…"

"You not hearin' me, gramps? I want my fuckin' jacket… No one keeps Curt Wild from his nicotine and lives to tell the tale. Trust me on that."

"Your drug dependency…" the blue dude began… but Curt would not have it. He jumped up off the roller bed, seeing just how fucking tall this beast guy was for the first time.

"Listen, pal, you may be big and you may be blue, but don't you fucking give me any fucking lectures on what to do and what not to do, because I ain't gonna fuckin' take it, hear me?"

In walked this tough lookin' guy, a cigar wrapped at the corner of his mouth. He was a hairy bastard, "What's goin' on in here…" His eyes locked on Curt Wild.

"I want a fucking cigarette… I want my jacket… Final fucking warning." Curt Wild said to everyone in the room.

Wolverine looked to Charles, "Let the man have what he wants, Chuck. It's not much."

"He has a foul mouth on him, doesn't he…" the baldy commented, nodding for Jean Gray to get the man's ensemble.

Curt Wild finally fuckin' saw he was standing there in a hospital dress and groaned, "Fuckin' great."

Wolverine smirked wolf-like, "As bad as I was, Professor."

"Mmm, yes. I remember."

"Hey, bub. I'm Logan. These people are stiffs, and won't letcha do much of anythin'. I suggest ya get out while ya can."

Curt grabbed at the folded clothes the beauty offered him, "Yeah, well, why've you stayed, Logan? And these fuckin' guys can't be serious… X-Men? Gimme a break."

"What's goin' on in here? Is he awake?" came a southern drawl just as Curt put the cancer stick between his lips.

He looked up and caught sight of an innocent lookin' dish with gloves and brown hair matchin' deer-like eyes. He gave her the once over… and she saw it, blushing fiercely and sticking close to Logan's side.

"Yes, he is," Charles answered.

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_I'm fuckin' bored now. Dare or not. Maybe I'll write some more later. Now, fuck off until then._

_~ Curt Fuckin' Wild_

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**Somewhere in another dimension, a universe shudders and a reality is altered… For when some things are done in one universe, there is a direct effect on the universe itself.**

**When our rocker, Curt Wild, took up this fateful dare to do a story, and unwittingly described these characters, little did he know that the details written were so exact and so accurate that Time and Destiny melted in a molten lump, and Curt's dream that night would not be drug induced… but the result of such an occurrence.**

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Charles Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters...

"Professor Xavier? Bobby and Jubilee would like to speak with you about something they thought you should know."

"S'not like he doesn't know everything anyway," Jubilee decided to announce.

"Jubes…" Bobby started with a glare.

"Thank you, Storm," the professor gave a business-like nod and a gentle half-smile, "Please have a seat, you two."

Jubilee jumped right into the conversation headlong, "See, Professor, it's like this: we went to that concert last night like you said we could and when this guy got onstage, we knew you should know that we think he's a mutant."

"And doesn't know it," Bobby added a beat later.

"Are these powers quite obvious?" The Professor was instantly curious.

Both Bobby and Jubilee nodded.

Storm put in, "They told me everything, and I think it is a good suggestion that one of the X-Men see for themselves."

"What sort of power does he possess?" Xavier was looking from one to the other.

Jubilee was intense as ever, face concentrated just below that spiky black mass. She leaned forward and placed her hands on the edge of her caretaker's desk, "It was tense, man. It was insane. Insanity!"

"Jubilee, just answer the Professor's question," came Bobby's nudge.

"Ah, right. Anywho, if Magneto gets his hands on this guy, the X-Men'll have a big problem on their hands, that's for sure…"

-

"This is music?" Hank asked, wrapped in his trench and fedora as he and Jean Gray stood at the back of the auditorium.

"It's not bad," Jean remarked almost distantly, her eyes riveted on the stage lit in blues and violets. She hadn't been to a rock concert in ages. She honestly didn't know what to expect nowadays, but the thought thrilled her inner child. Yes, Jean Gray had an inner child.

Hank looked down at her, an almost shocked expression on his furry, blue face hidden in the shadows, and met her tilted visage, staring back with a small smile, but his retort was cut short by the sudden screams, wails and cheers of the thousand people surrounding them.

Both pairs of eyes shot to the stage as they saw a lone figure join the band already playing. He wasn't of any substantial height, had stringy, blond locks to his naked shoulders with horribly visible, dark roots. Leather pants buckled with a wide band of silver left nothing to the imagination. And instantly, the two had the impression that this man would shock them within a matter of moments. The entire crowd knew it, and loved it.

Jean Gray honestly wasn't the one to admit attractiveness to someone so swiftly, but here she was and one of the strongest thoughts in her head was that this creature singing with a gravel cream voice had a definite magnetism, despite the dirtiness she suspected to lurk on his pale body. He was all fluid motion.

She closed her eyes and began a small thread of energy that wove almost confusedly through the throng that bore lighters and skin, ceasing only when it crept to the stage and there into the mind of Curt Wild.

_**Tangle, tangle, tangle, pain, pain, fuck, heroin, heroin, bass, drums, guitar, words, danger, danger, something's wrong, **__**something's wrong**__**, get the fuck out!………**_

And her eyes snapped open to find the subject of her query searching intently, between stanzas, bewilderment seething behind his eyes that were merely neon blue sparkles from this distance.

**-**

Jubilee sighed as she fell against the back of the chair, a shake of the head, "No tellin' what would happen if he was in a room alone with someone, or just a hundred people. He would have a friggin' army or a war going. Chaos, man. Ballet Des Dervish."

"If you send one, send another. That way, there'll be no room for anything going wrong," came Bobby's level-headed suggestion.

The professor looked thoughtful, "When will he be appearing again?"

"Next show is up two cities tonight at The Globe. Wait any longer, he'll just get farther away. [pause] And maybe even closer to Magneto, where ever that slime covered, good for nothing, son of a…"

"Jubilee, that's enough description," Storm reprimanded half heartedly.

"But, I was gonna say son of a …"

"I don't care. That's enough."

"Son of a junkyard," Jubilee mumbled.

"Thank you two for bringing this to our attention. I'll send Hank and Jean tonight."

Jubilee couldn't grin any harder; it lit up the room, but then fell almost conspiratorially, "Just be careful, Profe. A'ight?"

"Alright, Jubilee. Thank you."

-

"It's no wonder he got jumped. He appears a common thug himself, Jean," Hank remarked as he hefted the rocker over his broad shoulder and towards their van.

Jean had no comment, her eyes ever watchful and her mind ever open to any who might disturb their rescue of Curt Wild.

"Jean," came the doctor's cultured voice after he'd set the man into the van, "Come here. Have a look at this."

Jean stepped closer, keys in her hand and peered into the dimly lit vehicle to where Hank's blue claw traced up the singer's arm, dotted in incensed track marks.

Both grimaced.

-

"There were only miniscule amounts of the drug in his blood, though I wonder what effect they have on his abilities."

"Or what abilities it hides all together," Charles Xavier said almost under his breath to himself, "You went into his mind."

It wasn't a question, he knew. He peered up at his student as she answered, her own eyes strange to him for a moment, "Yes, Professor. He sensed me fairly quickly. [pause] It was a mess in there. Part of it was the heroin, but that was only a catalyst to the problem. I know _that_ at least."

She leaned back, considering the gathered schematization of this new mutant, "It's a small miracle that he's gotten this far."

There was a moment of stillness between them.

"I just wonder if we're not the only ones who know about this."

A thought occurred to them both at the same time and they perked, peering at each other.

"We didn't search the attackers."

Chuck gave a nod, "It's too much of a chance that it's true. We have to keep him here until we are sure he's safe from Magneto."

"Of course."

-

"_Curt Wild is in the building_," she finally stated out loud.

Jubilee paced her room, fingers worrying at each other. Her eyes were sharp despite the fact she'd awoken fifteen minutes before to the sound of something… an engine, then a bit of a commotion, the Professor's wheels on the floorboards just outside her door.

"Jubes, please just go back to…" Kitty at length sat up in bed, "Curt who? The name's familiar."

Jubilee nodded vaguely, coming to press her ear to the oaken panels to listen, "Lead singer, song writer of… well… Curt Wild."

Kitty's eyes went to the girl, silhouetted against the wall, "You're not making any sense."

Jubilee simply grinned to herself, rubbing her hands together and tossed a wink to Kitty, "Look at the poster, Kit."

Kitty did so, a protest at her lips dying as she saw a name on a poster under a face she'd only noticed briefly on other occasions, now it clicked who the hell Jubes was talking about. She threw back her covers, "Here?! But, why?!"

Jubilee tore herself away and came to the foot of the immaculate bed, sitting, "He's a mutant! When me and Bobby went to see 'im, we knew! It was so obvious. Only _he_ didn't know. We told the profe and somethin' musta happened, 'cause he's here now!"

Kitty blinked at this, her face went blank and her voice went flat, "Thanks for telling me all this earlier."

Jubes beamed, "No prob," and went back to her pacing and her eavesdropping, cracking the door open when everything went quiet, "They've gone to the basement level. Aw, dude. Curt Wild as an X-Man! Picture that…" -- she froze only an instant before shivering in anticipation -- "…full body black leather."

-

Pain crashed into the back of his skull, throbbing like blue balls in his mind, "Fuckin' Jesus Christ. Mary, mother of god. Fuck," he uttered in a string, too intelligible for Jean who stood beside the medlab table in her white coat.

^_Professor_,^ she called through her mind as she read the instruments that hummed and beeped around the man attached to them, "Mister Wild," she began softly.

He groaned, writhing a bit on the metal surface, "What the fuck…" he growled, a hand going to touch his searing temple, but he felt the sensation of a needle in his veins and opened his eyes instantly.

The lights were forgivingly dimmed and he blinked over and over, his sea foam hued eyes sparkling in an apathetic meets irked way, "Where the fuck am I?" he croaked, "What's in me? What the fuck is this?"

He finally took notice of the willowy red head standing there and watched her steadily for what seemed a suspended eternity. She looked away, her body language telling him she was uncomfortable, to the monitors, "You were jumped in an alley near The Globe after your performance. We were able to stop them and bring you here to treat your wounds.

"Here? Where's here?" he didn't try to sit up, he felt his body quake minutely. He knew the sobriety before he could think of the lucid word for it. He hated it.

"Charles Xavier's School for the Gifted," came a voice just before a balding man arrived in a wheelchair, "Welcome. I'm Charles Xavier. It's good to see you awake. How do you feel?"

Curt stared unabashedly between the two of them, fatigued, answering quietly and slowly, "Like a fucking train hit me."

Pieces of memory began to float through his mind's eye. He had been mugged, yes. Before that, he was on stage.

_School for the_ _gifted_? _What_? Then the dare to write this story came to mind, "What is this? Is this a fuckin' joke? Who put you two up to this? Alright, I figured it out. I know. Ha. Ha. Very fuckin' funny. [pause] This **pain** isn't. You **know** you're gonna fuckin' pay for that, asshole. Now get me outta here. I need a hit."

Hank McCoy strolled in with his clipboard and glasses just then, making Curt's eyes go wide and his muscles stiffen, "Mother fucker… What the fuck… A guy in a suit? Jesus…"

Hank took pause, "He has excellent verbal skills, doesn't he, Jean?"

Jean sent him a scathing leer.

"Curt, this is Doctor Hank McCoy. He's part of a team I have assembled called the X-Men. It's consisted of people with superhuman powers, powers brought on by a mutation, the next step in human evolution, if you will."

Curt just took the façade as it came, sighing, "Yeah, uh huh. Sure," staring at the realistic gorilla suit the 'doctor' wore.

"The reason why you're here is not only because you were attacked in the alley, but because two of our young students attended your concert and saw that you had abilities much like our own."

This was new. He watched, his assurance that this was a hoax only building. He had a smirk at his lips, "My own powers, huh? What powers do I have? Dontcha think I would already know about them?" Curt then sat up with a few grunts, despite Jean's and Hank's nervous glances.

"Not necessarily. We'll talk of them when you're ready. Right now, your number one goal is to get well and understand we're here only to help."

Curt snorted and shook his head, staring at the needle in his hand, following the tiny, clear tube up to the morphine bag. Someone had gone to great lengths to… or maybe this was a trip… it was!

"Aw, man. This has got to be some great shit," he looked around him now with renewed, vivid interest. He reached out to touch the Jean chick, catching her unawares. She felt so fucking real! A goofy smile came as he felt her arm, "Aw, fuck. That's so great."

Hank stared.

Charles frowned.

Jean shivered.

Curt smiled, "What a great trip. Man, this is the best…" He started to get off the table. Hank stepped forward, but with a look from Charles, he stopped and allowed the rocker to get up.

Curt glanced down at himself, "At least I'm not wearing that pansy ass hospital gown," he critiqued to himself, tugging a bit at the gray sweatpants hanging low around his hips, his feet bare against the sleek surface of the floor, "Damn, this is fucking great."

"I believe he thinks this is a hallucination brought on by drugs, Professor Xavier," Hank pointed out.

Charles' face was of patience, "It would seem that way."

Curt's attention wasn't even paying itself to them as he wandered away, finding restricted movement from the needle. He pulled it out before any of them could move to stop him. Jean sighed in exasperation, "He's almost as bad as Wolverine was."

The rocker turned at that name, "Wolverine… Logan… the gruffy guy with that girl with the brown eyes, covered up in gloves and all. I remember that character. Where is he? I liked him. He made 'wheels' over there give me my cigarettes. Where the fuck _are_ my cigarettes?"

The three gawked at this and shared astonished looks.

"Well?" Curt insisted, glaring at the others, "Where's my shit?"

^_Get his belongings, Jean,_^ Xavier intoned in Jean's head. She walked out of the medlab for the clothes, words and anxieties held tight to her tongue.

With the projections from this stranger, the professor decided to give him one more piece of the puzzle, "Mister Wild, please understand that you are in a fair amount of danger. The two who attacked you early last night might have been after more than your wallet.

"There's a chance that they, too, discovered your abilities and were out to impolitely solicit your powers to their side. They are out to destroy the human race, while we are out to preserve some semblance of peace between the mutants and the rest of the world."

Curt considered this for a long while, actually looking a bit sober. He had accepted this as a kick ass trip and so went with the plot his brain seemingly laid out, "You want me to help you?"

"We want you to be aware of your powers and of the danger you're in. Other than that, we can only offer a place for you among us."

Jean came back with the stack of clothes, atop which was his wallet, cigarettes and other odds and ends that had been in his pockets. His clothes were washed. He almost didn't recognize them as he took them from the woman.

He grunted a thanks and set the stuff down on the gurney, pulling out a cigarette from the box and placing it between his lips, "This is fucking hysterical. I should write books," he spoke quietly to himself, his eyes aloof and focused inward.

"X-Men, huh?"… his grin was almost as wicked as it was fleeting before he lit up the cancer stick and inhaled the poison.

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	2. Part II

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**Curt Wild in Yellow Spandex**

**[PART TWO]**

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"How do you know this guy's after me?" Curt was eating some of the best food he'd had in forever. He'd also been taking some sort of serum for the cravings which he hadn't felt, yet. He just put that to the fact that this wasn't real anyway.

"We're not definitely sure that he **is** after you, though it's a possibility we can't ignore," Scott spoke over the salad in front of him.

"He'd want to use you for his own good," came a gruff insert from Logan who was covering his hamburger with a sauce from a bottle only he was using, "Use your powers."

"What're my 'powers'?" Curt prompted after watching Wolverine lick sweet steak dressing off his fingers.

There was a pause at the table. The professor hadn't shown up, yet, for lunch, though that was normal. Scott and Storm were eating quietly and Jean Gray appeared a little less comfortable.

After seeing no one speak up immediately, Logan decided to prompt Jean, "Whaddya think, Red?"

Curt smirked at this pet name and took a large bite of his own hamburger, watching the woman under his lashes. She tilted her head a little and he could see she was selecting the words carefully as she went, "We're not totally confident, yet. What we'd like to do is run some tests--"

He glanced to Logan after he heard the man snort something that could have been a laugh of disgust.

"--just to identify what you're capable of. We can only guess at some sort of amplification power at this point."

"Someone's on the grounds," came a breathy, panicked voice from Rogue who was followed by Kitty, "Not friendly."

"It's Toad," was Professor Xavier's answer. He'd appeared a moment later in the archway of the hall, "Storm, get the students to their rooms, please."

-

Curt didn't look out of the window of the jet, merely stared at the back of yuppie dude's head. _Cyclops_, was it? How long had he been with these characters anyway, and did the fix ever last this long? He'd been surprised before. He kept thinking that this was some good shit, though he couldn't stop a nagging worry at his senses. It was too real and too sober.

"Magneto's unpredictable at best. We can't trust him with meeting the Professor even if it is on school grounds," Cyclops was controlling the ship's movements with that calculated grace of his, following the ship ahead.

"Fuck knows what he wants anyhow," Wolverine grumbled as he played with the end of a cigar he'd stamped out before taking off. No smoking onboard.

"You know what he wants, Logan. He wants an alliance," Storm prompted him without a backwards glance.

"I don't care if he wants to open a lemonade stand. Why are we cooperating with this Bozo?" he responded with a sneer.

Magneto, Cyclops... Storm. What the hell was up with these nicknames? He just started to wonder about it some days ago over breakfast. Since when did he eat breakfast? Too many fucking questions and too much sobriety.

"I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore," Curt stated into the silence that had followed Logan's bad mood.

Everyone but Scott gave him a look.

He paused, his expression had become confused, almost frustrated and lost: "It's _not_ a trip."

This is when they moved their curious gazes away, everyone but Jean who seemed up to listening, "No, I'm afraid it isn't, Curt."

"Why did you guys bring me here?" he asked, staring at the redhead as if she were out of her mind.

"We brought you on the jet because we want security on you. We don't know what Magneto wants..." but Curt was already shaking his head.

"That's not what I meant. Why am I fucking _here_? Am I fucking _dead_ or what?"

-

"I can't believe the meeting went that well," Jean admitted as she walked with Scott down the corridors.

"It doesn't make sense, does it," Scott kept his eyes on the various readers and screens in his hands. The school had its own sweepers, but more immediate, pinpointed searches had been in order since Toad and his friend had visited the school grounds.

"He was always straight forward with what he wanted," she started, though amended quickly as Scott sent her a glare, "At least with his goal."

"He knows where the professor's principles lie. It seems futile to simply ask for cooperation after all this."

There was a long breadth of silence between them, "At least Curt's not thinking this is a drug induced state anymore. It took him long enough."

"You think the professor's right, then? About what he can do?"

"I'm not sure. After what we saw at the concert, I wouldn't be surprised."

"What about his writing that story? Is that drug induced as well?"

"He seems to truly believe it."

"We've seen interdimensional travel before, Jean," though he pointed it out as if it were the punch line of a joke.

Jean ignored the implication, "None of it like this. We haven't been able to contact those who can pull it off anyway, so we really don't know what we're dealing with."

Scott gave a pause and tendered a probing look, "What is it with him? Are you just curious or what? Tell me it's scientific curiosity."

"What do you mean?"

"You blank out when anyone mentions him."

"Don't tell me you're jealous."

"No." -- Yes.

"Jesus, Scott," she shook her head, unbelieving eyes before she stalked away.

"Jean? Jean, look, I'm sorry," he stopped her with a touch to her arm, "I'm just worried. It's like Logan all over again. You know how screwed up his head is. Curt's the same. I just need to know you're being careful."

She watched him for a split second and let out a tired breath, "Well, you really should say that first off. Tell me what you're getting at. I hate it when you interrogate me like that. It's manipulation, and I don't like it."

She was on edge, and he knew it. He reached out to touch her face and she allowed it. What was that sense of anxiety that kept steadily growing within her? It was just the meeting with Magneto, she told herself.

-

Jubilee was staring and she didn't care. She never cared. She watched as Curt Wild sat on _her_ sofa and smoked _her_ joint. Kitty looked a little uneasy, curled up on her bed with her book of CDs. Bob Dylan hummed away in the background.

His stringy blonde hair seemed enchanted as it tangled with the silver threads coming from the burning marijuana, "Good stuff."

She took it as he offered it back and sipped at it, not bothering to hold it in, just giving a sigh, "Thanks. So, how'd you know I'd have some?"

Curt gave her a sidelong glance, a lazy smirk curling his mouth, "Look at you."

She matched his smirk and then laughed, "Yup."

Wolverine was halfway down the hall on the same level when he smelled the scent of pot creeping from the cracks of one of the student's doors. It was very weak, and somehow knew he was the only one who could smell it. This annoyed the hell out of him. He was going to get a late night grab for food and the kitchen happened to be on the way. _Stupid conscience_.

It was rare the kids who did it ever did it on the grounds, and typically, Logan would just tell them to knock it off and not give it a second thought. However as he neared, the scent of the stranger, Curt Wild, prevailed. This was not a good mix in his mind's eye. The staff'd been briefed on the man's "condition".

Also, it was coming from Marie's room. He closed his eyes in longsuffering and refused a sneeze at the smells. He bristled and stalked his way to do his reluctant duty. _Damned responsibility_.

Meanwhile, Curt couldn't believe he could still get high off the comparatively mild drug.

"Jubes," came a reprimanding voice from the bathroom.

"Oh, shit," the black haired girl groaned, "I forgot she was in there."

Rogue came striding out wearing long pajamas, dog tags and a towel around her head. She stopped after a few faulty steps, "Jubilee!" Her big browns flickered from face to face to joint.

"She not like this stuff?" Curt asked in a ridiculously loud stage whisper.

"She's cool with it. It's just you," and came that bright grin flashing on her angular face.

"We're gonna get kicked out," Rogue stuttered.

Wolverine was close enough in the hall to have heard this last statement through the door; he waited and listened quietly.

"I won't tell," Curt thought that sounded awfully ridiculous for an adult to say, but he gave her a look, "Do I look like I care?" as he took a long drag.

She was shocked, but she actually started laughing, "Oh, my god," and then just shook her head once, tiptoeing over to her bed, "This place gets crazier."

"How long you guys been here?" Curt thought seeming interested would ease the tensions Rogue'd brought into the room. Plus, if he was going to accept he wasn't tripping on heroin, he might as well give the marijuana the best go he could.

"I've been here since I was thirteen--" Jubilee started.

"How old are you?" he asked, brows tucked down.

"Eighteen. I know I look thirteen," she smirked, appearing like she'd gotten it a lot.

He gave her the once over, eyes narrowing, "I'd say nineteen."

"Thanks. Kit over there is nineteen, been here since she was fourteen. And Rogue is eighteen. She's been here for two years."

"What do you guys do?"

"Do?" Kitty spoke up.

"He means powers. You mean powers, right?" Jubes confirmed with a nod.

"Yeah. Am I not s'posed to ask?" he looked worried only as someone high could, fingers tightening on the soft paper holding the reefer.

"No, no. Everyone asks. Here's what I do," she pushed up her sleeves over her skinny arms and held out her hands that were void of the fingerless gloves she typically wore. Small bangles of multi colored light popped from her palms, splatting in the air of the room like miniature fireworks that mirrored in everyone's eyes, carrying on the smoke.

He heard the soft pops of the kid's light display. Logan could almost picture the scene inside: Jubilee and Curt with drowsy eyelids. Kitty and Rogue looking sober and maybe a little amused. He fought back a sneeze.

"Wow."

"Yeah, I know," she said goofily as she took another hit, "Kit can walk through things, walls and shit."

"No shit?" he looked to the auburn haired chick who blushed with a pretty smile, "That's fucking cool. Useful, too."

"She's our lookout usually," Jubilee thought to mention.

Curt coughed a laugh at this and so did Kitty and Rogue. Jubilee simply had a smug expression on her face.

"What about you?" he asked, stretching his muscles out as they turned more relaxed than ever, stormy eyes latching onto Rogue.

Jubilee averted her eyes from her roommate, and Kitty shifted, slightly nervous.

Rogue was finished drying her long hair, the shock of white standing out in the dark mass, "I absorb other's powers."

Curt sensed the tension, but was buzzing, so the warmth in his voice made everyone a bit more on ease despite his next question, "How?"

"If they touch my skin, I sorta suck their powers from them. I can kill them if they touch me long enough."

"That's useful," he commented with a sage nod.

"Only she can't turn it off," Jubes said with a longsuffering sigh, tilting her head back on the sofa that paralleled their beds.

"It's okay, though," Marie added hastily, "Can I have some of that?"

Curt pitied the girl. His mind barely grasped the concept of a someone that pretty not being able to touch anyone. Kitty finally joined in on their circle until they were all stoned to the point of random giggles, some sniffles and long extents of easy silence.

"So, what all do you do?" Jubilee asked after what seemed a good half hour of nothing, "I mean, I know a little of it."

"I dun ev'n know that much. Tell me," he bumped her arm with his, "Tell me what it is."

"Well," and slowly she began to gather herself up and adopt a professor persona, "It's obvious that with the type of display, given what you had up there..."

He'd stalled long enough: "I smell that," interrupted a gruff voice echoed loudly against the door of their room.

"That's locked, right?" Jubilee asked, dazed and casually concerned, to no one in particular.

Curt shrugged. Rogue was blushing, wafting at the smoke hazed room with her hands. Kitty was frozen on her bed, having been the one to end up holding the joint at this moment.

The door opened and there was Logan's rough face, "Smells like a second city dive from outside, guys. Put it out."

His gaze went meaningfully from Jubilee to Marie and finally it settled on Curt who appeared as if he'd been caught in this very situation on the day he was born. Wolverine felt some semblance of concern drift through him, "I'm going to grab a beer. Come with me."

Curt stood, his muscles relaxed, giving the three girls a lopsided smirk, "Thanks, guys."

"Any time, Curt," Jubes piped up, but after a patented glare from Logan, she withered a little, "See you later."

"G'night, Curt. Logan," Marie said quietly, her big browns unable to meet the face of her guardian whose presence was doing a number on her conscience.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow," he promised before closing the door behind the rockstar and himself.

The walk they took led them outside instead of the kitchen. Logan needed to smoke away the tensions the scenario had played on his mind. Curt sensed this and felt a bit like he'd been caught doing something horribly wrong.

He needed a cigarette.

"That stuff'll end up killing you," Logan said as he lit a cigar in the half-light of the west wing porch. It was night, nearly eleven now, and while Wolverine was in a raggedy jean jacket, Curt was wrapped in his smelly leather number.

"And that won't?" Curt smirked at the stogie.

Logan shrugged a little, "Not me anyway."

"How long've you been here?" Curt continued the question with this man who seemed totally out of his element in the mansion.

"In and out. Don't really live here. I came here with Marie 'bout two years ago," he paused and gave the blonde a look, "You get caught with that stuff in your system, Red's gonna have you hogtied to the gurney eating out of a straw."

"I'm not staying anyway," he muttered glumly around the cigarette between his lips.

"Damned kids shouldn't have that junk. Leads to badder stuff as I hear it," no sidelong glance to Curt.

"You never done it?" and he couldn't keep an impish smirk from his face.

"I've tried everything under the sun, bub."

There was a breeze that came up from the surrounding line of trees. The basketball court looked like a dull eyed, cultured lake in the ink of the flat yard. Curt felt the chill of autumn sneaking up, but also had the idea that he was detached from the moment, here with Wolverine.

He lifted his sullen gaze to the bruised sky, "Some thoughts you gotta get away from. Sometimes it's easiest shootin' up than having to replay the whole shitload in your head day and night."

He twisted his foot against the patio tiles, kicking at a loose crag. Logan shifted beside him, the stench of the cigar tickling around inside Curt's nose. After a brief moment, he met the curious stare.

"I know," was Logan's answer to Curt's awkward monologue.

The air between them seemed to quiver with the unnamable. _What the fuck would those hands feel like on my skin?_ thought Curt who squinted his eyes in a half-wince at the thought. Curt didn't typically go for guys like Logan, but this wasn't a very typical time or place, "Beer?"

Wolverine's expression turned more open and a twinkle entered his feral eyes, "Sure."

Back on familiar ground.

-

He was half drunk and desperate, feeling the first surges of doubts. Maybe he didn't write what he thought he did. It would be easier to really believe that.

His bleary eyes drifted over to the folder that held newspaper clippings Jean Gray had given him. She had also included paper and a pen for some reason. He'd mentioned that he wrote all this before, so maybe that's why. He nipped at the pad of his thumb before settling himself down for a little experiment. His bare feet were cold, probably because his room was downstairs with the medlab, Storm and the big, blue guy. No warm wood paneled walls here.

And so, he began to write and despite the frustrations of it, he was determined and eventually got lost in the page. It was about nothing in particular and he couldn't really say if it mattered what it was about. When he realized that one of the characters was pretty much a Brian Slade clone, he got pissed at himself and stared at the paper, chewing on his chapped lips with a disappointed look on his face.

"Stop there. See if this shit gets real tomorrow," he said over the filter of a cigarette he was about to light. What he'd said caught him off guard and he realized it sounded stupid even to him. He gave half a laugh and it was choked. The taste of Logan's brand of beer was unfamiliar but vaguely satisfying as if he'd drunk straight whiskey for lunch.

He stalked over to the window, cancer stick perched between two fingers and stringy blond shocks pulled back in a haphazard pony tail. The landscape outside was all blacks and washed out blues. He didn't know what he wanted to happen with the _writing_. It haunted him as it sat there unfinished.

-

Rogue saw Remy standing there and the world faded away at the edges. Her grin turned wide and his eyes met hers. He gave her a wink and a brilliant smile.

"Gambit," Storm and Scott spotted the tall, lithe young man and they greeted him as he sat down at their table. Everyone except Logan and Curt.

"Remy's back, missing you guys too much," those odd red and blacks dancing over the faces of his comrades.

Wolverine was predictably silent.

"Did you have any luck with tracking down the boy?" Storm spoke up.

"After I called you, Remy did look around the dregs of his city, but he was gone."

"I hope he wasn't taken after what happened on the news," Jean Gray worried at her sleeve with her index finger.

"Not be surprised, mon cheri," and the Cajun took to the banquet on the table.

Curt watched the others with furtive glances, checking out the stranger that seemed so welcome. Probably another one of them.

"Remy? This is Curt Wild. Curt, this is Remy Lebeau; we call him Gambit. He's a member of our team. He's been away on an assignment recently, though," Jean Gray thought to introduce the two with a pleasant gesture of her hand.

Gambit took in the features of the man and saw everything tragic and flawed while at the edges a quick temper lurked. His glance flickered to Wolverine who sat beside the blonde. The two were alike in a lot of obvious ways, and it made him smile, "Howdya do, Curt." -- as he chewed on a slice of bacon.

"Good," Curt answered and as an afterthought added, "Nice to meet you."

The storms in those slate green eyes captured Remy's attention and he knew he was hooked.

Scott started speaking then, "He's here because we think Magneto had some of his people go after Curt. We're assessing the danger he poses to him."

"That bucket head's a danger to everybody," Logan finally spoke up, chugging orange juice, "Probably has the kid, too."

"Logan," Storm gave him a look.

"What?" he grumped.

"Hey, Gambit," came a soft, intense voice.

"Rogue," Gambit greeted her with a charming glitter in his eyes and a quick smile, "Remy enjoys to see your face again."

Curt could feel Logan bristling at the display.

"Welcome back," she said, dragging a hand through her chin length hair, white streaks accentuated.

"You wanna see what Remy brought back for one of his best friends in the wide world?"

She nodded, a flush running up her neck, forming a smile at her cupid's bow lips.

And the two were gone.

-

"You don't like that guy too much," Curt commented when Logan had come out to take some puffs on his cigar. It looked more of a ritual than a need.

"Gumbo?"-- unkempt brows arched a little and then ducked down, "He's alright. I don't like his style much. City boy," and he lit the stove pipe of a cigar, taking short drags to get it going. He noticed the minute stiffening of Curt's shoulders and figured he'd touched a nerve, "'Course he's all smooth and charming. I dunno. I don't go for that... pretty boy stuff."

This seemed to relax the singer into a wan smirk, "Good for you."

"Wha' d'you mean?"

The musician shrugged and flicked the end of his cig to get rid of the ashes, "Some people are stupid enough to go for it."

With his sensitive ears and his map of the way the world worked, Logan figured there was something more behind that statement, "Yeah. Can't blame 'em, though, if that's what they want..." and he left the sentence hanging there, smoke rolling over his tongue and teeth out into the chilling air.

"Guess not," a strained, concealed note of memory tracing Curt's singular voice.

"I'm guessing the professor's gonna wanna see you soon about your plans to leave."

"I'm not in a hurry," Curt conceded, finished with the cigarette, but still picking at it with the tip of his thumb.

After a suspended moment, "What changed?"

There was a chaste shrug to his shoulders, "People here... they're different. Sometimes it's a little--" a breath and a confused series of blinks before he looked through a few strands of hair at Logan, "--suffocating, but not bad."

Wolverine's thought at that moment was: _This kid's sad... _and as an afterthought amidst the smoke, _Like everyone else here._

-

Jean didn't normally take enough paranoid care in the business of others, but when it came to Curt Wild and what had happened, her scientific curiosity bent the rules. It had done as much with Logan when he arrived, but with Curt there was an uncertainty that there hadn't been with Wolverine. Here, she didn't know in what category this one belonged. There just wasn't a place in her mind that could make sense out of him.

Which brought her to be standing in his room at this moment, nervous eyes hungry for information and bright with anxiety.

"You're crazy, Jean. Completely... crazy..." and she saw it, the writing that Curt had done the night before. She skimmed it, deciphering the craggy text as it scrawled in impatient cadence across the paper she'd given him. When she saw her name, she started from the very beginning and read carefully.

_**Okay, I can do this. I dunno WHY the fuck I'm doing it, but what the hell. My head fucking hurts. Damn foreign beer**__._

_Curt Wild found the spot in the afternoon, real late when it was almost night, but not there yet. There was enough light and it was real nice looking with bushes all square and straight and flowers in a row. There was no one out there right now. He didn't know why he was there, but what the fuck did it matter when his head felt like it was about to fucking paint the walls of his skull in an explosion._

_So, here he was and he was waiting for something, maybe someone. Then the Logan guy comes out and starts talking to him. That doesn't last too long. The cigar smoke didn't help anyway. When he's gone, then comes the woman Logan's named Red. Her real name's Jeanie. Really tarty name for someone that looks like she can majorly kick some ass. Red's a better name._

_Anyway, so Curt's out there and he sees Red._

_"Hi, Curt," she says._

_"Hi," but he doesn't feel much like talking so she talks for him about something, but he's not paying attention because he sees something going on off in the horizon._

_"What the fuck is that?" he asks, pointing._

_She and Curt watch a little as the shape gets bigger when the man with the sunglasses comes running out and tells everyone to get inside..._

_-_

Voices coming from the hallway made her stop there, and she felt a blush warming her cheeks as she put the story back where she found it.

"Behaving like a child," she admonishes herself and turns to leave. The conversation outside has stopped and she freezes, straining to listen, reaching out with her mind to brush those of any nearby.

_What the hell_, is the projection in a familiar timbre. There, standing by the open door, is Scott and Curt, the former staring at her in disbelief.

"Sorry, I was trying to get... some papers I think I might've left... in that folder, Curt," but she knew she looked more guilty than all that.

"Oh, okay. Cool," Curt amended before entering the room, peeling off his jacket and throwing it on the chair, "D'you find 'em?"

"Yes. Did you find what you were looking for, Jean?" came Scott's suggestive question.

Curt caught the tone and looked from one to the other, "There wasn't anythin' in there 'cept some blank paper and those article things."

"Must have been the other folder," she added quietly, giving a soft smile as she walked to the door, "Excuse me."

He noticed how uncomfortable she looked, "No problem."

After they were gone, Curt felt like he'd completely missed something. The light on the desk had been left on and he made his way to it, glancing down at the unruly sheets of paper he'd written on. He picked them up and stared for a drawn out moment before reading absently, kicking off his boots in the process.

Did he want the writing to come to life just like his "dare" had? He was half-baked when he'd done the first one, but he could remember details oddly enough. Maybe he really just wanted it all to be an illusion or a mistake, a trick of his mind.

Or perhaps he wanted these "mutants" to be real. They were outcasts like him, freaks of nature. While Curt Wild fed off the fear of the world, adoring the sensation of hundreds of eyes on him, expecting him to dumfound them with tortured words and bared chest and who knows what else might enter his whim when the rush of it all took control, he hadn't felt connected to anything but the reaction to the music and that became a hollow catharsis that just wore him down over time.

-

_...and tells everyone to get inside to the floor they have underground. So, they do that. Turns out no one knows who's in the plane and now Curt and everyone else is standing underground and trying to hail the plane that's coming at them. It doesn't look like any normal plane. It looks like one of the X-Men joints. It comes to a hover near the basketball courts._


	3. Part III

…

**Curt Wild in Yellow Spandex**

**[PART THREE]**

…

Professor Xavier knew first. Then Jean knew. Their world would never be the same. In the instant of Magneto's death, the connection between Xavier and his lifelong pseudo nemesis was severed, and because Professor X knew, Jean Gray knew.

There was one other person in the mansion that felt the sudden rift, but she did not recognize it for what it was. She could not protect herself.

"Rogue?" but Jubilee could not raise her friend. She was alive, her breathing was soft, but she would not wake. The early morning light sifted through the lace of the curtains, falling on Rogue's peaceful face like an ominous ethereal glow. Somehow, Rogue was gone.

Jubilee shook her briefly, the stunning realization that something was wrong erupting in her mind like a lightning strike. She made a break for the door, jerking it open to the hallway and yelling to the first gaggle of students she saw, "GET THE PROFESSOR! GET JEAN! ANYONE! It's Rogue!"

…

It had been a week since he'd written the "page of possible", and nothing had happened even remotely close to what he'd written. Somehow, he was sad. If this was not his power, what was his power? They had made a mistake. He was a nobody. He was, also, a nobody with a craving. These people had cleansed his body for the need of the drug, but his mind, his person, who he was - desired the effects.

He became increasingly laconic and withdrawn. The death of the Mosquito… or… Magnet guy had allowed Curt Wild to fly below the radar. For some reason, the demise of these people's biggest, baddest dude had set them on edge. One would think they'd be relieved. Curt was kept out of the loop, however, and he was grateful for it.

The need was quickly becoming all-consuming. It wasn't until one late afternoon, the idea came to him. Leave. The astounding breadth of sobriety that he was experiencing was nearly crippling to his spirit. There was nothing for him here. Or was there? The medical place downstairs! There had to be something stored there, something to take the edge off. But, of course, there also had to be surveillance. Damn. He wasn't smart enough to get past techno-stuff.

Furthermore, Curt was not a malicious sort. The freaks here had only helped him. He did not want to betray them.

So, leave it was. The plan was simple. Walk right out of the front gate.

He stood at the gate in the coming twilight, listening to the sounds of the bugs and birds in the trees. He turned to look back at the mansion, partially obscured by a grand row of trees along either side of the drive.

He hesitated. Did he want to go back to his old life? The hesitation lasted longer than he had anticipated.

"You comin' or not?" came a voice on the other side of the fence.

He jumped.

The orange-red light at the end of the cigar flared a moment as Logan took a draw of its heady smoke.

"Where're we going?" Curt asked.

Logan gave a slight shrug before removing the stogie from his mouth, "You tell me."

Curt and Logan locked eyes in the quasi-light of the failing sun, shadows cast deep around them. The street outside of the mansion walls looked oddly empty and normal.

Curt took a breath, "The gate's locked."

"There's a door," Logan cocked his head to the side, and Curt saw the door set into the stone wall.

"Oh," Curt gave a half-smile and went to the door, opening it and letting himself out of the mansion grounds.

There stood Logan, his motorcycle now in sight at the curb. Curt again met eyes with Logan and felt a chill run through him despite the balmy, late-summer climate.

Those eyes held him captive. Curt was instantly set off balance on the inside. That gaze, so intense, reminded him of Brian. Predatory. Owning him.

But, of course, that had to be a trick of the light.

The moment gone, Logan moved to the motorcycle and straddled it, cranking its noisy engine. Curt did not hesitate. Every part of him wanted free from the mansion and its spotlessness. He was a creature too tainted for a place like that.

He situated himself behind Logan and, in a brief pause, was surprised to find the man pull one of Curt's arms around his middle. Curt's blood ran hot as Logan stamped out the cigar and applied power to the bike. His grasp around Logan's midsection tightened, as did Curt's throat. The smell of leather and smoke and man filled his nose as the wind whipped through his stringy blonde hair. Their bodies pressed close as the bike accelerated with obscene loudness down the domestic side streets.

…

It was one in the morning, and he was the only one there, watching her. Nervous. Tense. Marie had been his responsibility despite the fact that she'd grown up a long time ago. Asleep, she was still that little girl who'd changed his life. No, not asleep. He grimaced and rubbed his temple. She was in a coma. Somehow, it was because of Magneto. Professor Xavier had no clue how it could have happened. Red had exhausted her tests, to include those all-too-personal, invasive mental probes. All that was found was blackness, as if Marie no longer existed in this body.

But Logan felt her. She was still alive somewhere, if not here. He felt helpless and angry. He did not leave her side.

…

Jubilee was restless. She was worried. Everyone was. It was a little after one in the morning, and she needed to talk. For some inexplicable reason, she found herself standing in front of Curt's door. The light was on. She knocked. No answer. Maybe he'd fallen asleep. Then she heard it, the rustle inside. A bump.

"Curt?" she whispered. The noises inside silenced.

"Curt, it's Jubes," she whispered.

No answer. An eerie feeling washed through her. She reached for the door knob.

"Jubilee, what are you doing?" came a surprised voice. Storm.

Only slightly embarrassed, and now more bothered than anything, Jubilee mimed silence with a finger to her lips. Storm's eyebrow rose in indignance, but she remained quiet and approached the girl.

"Something's wrong," Jubilee whispered. Storm took the hint and moved Jubilee out of the way, opening the door in one swift movement.

Ransacked was a good word. Papers, drawers, sheets everywhere, and the window wide open.

…

"What were you doing there anyway?" Jean asked, eyes disapproving.

"I just wanted to talk," Jubilee was feeling more and more uncomfortable. She herself could understand their repulsed confusion.

"Inappropriate confidants aside, the real problem is Curt's disappearance," The Beast contributed, his great hulk perched carefully on the chaise lounge.

"Jubilee, we'll talk tomorrow. Go to bed," Jean ordered.

"What about Curt?" Jubilee's voice rose. She had enough with being kept in the dark. First, Rogue. Now, Curt. Of course, Curt wasn't as close to her, but he'd been strangely important to her. Some people just clicked, and that was enough.

"We'll do all we can, Jubilee. Trust in that. Now, go to bed," Xavier's voice brooked no argument, and Jubilee clenched her teeth before leaving without another word.

"It looked like a search, not a struggle," Jean said.

The Beast said carefully then, "So, Curt left on his own, and at the same time, his room is searched."

"Too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence," Scott muttered.

"Check all surveillance footage for today," Xavier prompted.

Logan, who'd been quiet the entire time, cleared his throat, "I think I might know where he'd go."

"Assuming he left on his own, you mean," Scott corrected primly.

Logan didn't even dignify the man's statement, "I'll search the usual dives and corners."

Xavier nodded in agreement, "It's the best possible lead we have."

"With Magneto out of the picture and Curt on the loose, we need to know now more than ever who is successor is."

"Most likely it's his killer," Storm said flatly.

Jean added, "A strong possibility, somebody new."

"Or someone that's been lying low for a long, long time," Xavier spoke softly, eyes sharp and unfocused in the same moment.

Fat Bottoms was once a blues club, but now made its money from illegal gambling and drug dealing. The latter was Curt's interest at the moment. He didn't know the area well, but with one look at Fat Bottoms' clientele, he knew that Logan's dark side ran deeper than he'd initially thought.

"What's your preference," asked Logan, his breath brushing across Curt's cheek and into his ear. The loud, obnoxious rock music forced any conversation to occur well within 'personal boundaries'.

Surprised, but strangely okay with the question, Curt followed his gut and let a crooked smile surface.

Logan matched the smile, "Let's go to the back."

It was the second dive of his search, still no Curt. He checked the cell-phone that Storm had given him. One missed call. He opened it and returned the call.

Jean answered, "Logan, it's Mystique. She has Curt. She's in Wolverine mode."

"Shit," he muttered, and it hit him, "I know where they're going." He closed the phone and started the bike.

"Logan, I'm…" but Jean looked at the phone. The connection had ended, "…sending back up." She rolled her eyes. God, he was annoying.

In that moment, Marie awoke with a fast, rattling inhalation. And then she screamed.


End file.
